


Try

by BrosleCub12 (orphan_account)



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Anxious Nick, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Protective Judy, Romance, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BrosleCub12
Summary: ‘Nick, it’s alright.’





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first Zootopia fic (or Zootropolis to me, officially, being a Brit). Am I nervous about this? Why yes, yes I am. It's taken me a while to get my life together and write something for this; I've had a bit of a rough year fanfic-wise, everything I've written has been sub-par and romance has been pretty much off the table. See what you make of this; feedback is much appreciated.
> 
> Regarding warnings: obviously there are spoilers, as this is post-film and there is a fair bit of romance - but also looking back on things that have been causing pain. I actually found this quite a cathartic experience, all things considered. Obviously I don't own Zootopia; I'm just takin' a stroll through the neighbourhood.

*

He doesn’t know how to say what he really _wants_ to say and that’s a cliché opening line for a romance novel if he’s ever heard one.

(And he has, in fact. His Mum, his Gran, used to secret them away; he used to go and hunt them out while his Mum was working or his Gran was cooking, hid under his bed sniggering at the sheer optimism of the thing. For a cub who had already been rejected from - and muzzled by - a troop of scouts, such writings were, even to a ten-year-old tyke in second-hand clothes, clearly the dreams of a few wistful gentle-mammals who were looking at the world through rose-coloured glasses).

In fact, if he’s being really honest with himself – and let it be said that Nicholas P. Wilde will admit to himself more than he would to anybody else, except of course his Mum and more recently, Judy – he hasn’t done… _this_ for – wow – for a long time, maybe, his obvious natural charisma and animal magnetism speaking for itself and there have been certain vixens, sure. _But._ He’s been single for a long time; hustling is his mistress. (Did he really just think that? Yes, yes he did).

And anyway, Judy is no vixen.

The memory of that moment down in the pit of the museum (and seriously, why was there an _open pit_ in the museum in the first place, he remembers thinking incredulously, someone could have fallen in and ta-da, someone _did,_ a bunny with a bad leg and a quietly panicking fox, trying to keep her out of harm’s way) has stayed with him for a very, very long time. It’s been a year and he still can’t expel it; Judy’s all-too-convincing acting, her whole body shuffling backwards, her face just a little _too_ frightened and him, a little _too_ convincing in the hunch of his haunches, the snarl of his teeth, the desperation to buy time and borrow proof weighing heavily on their performances.

(He had known how she felt. That was the worst part. He had known what it was like to be cornered, trapped and even in the seconds before Bellwether pulled the trigger, he found himself wondering if this plan – hastily concocted, a failsafe just in case – was the wrong plan, if Judy’s life – or her sanity -was going to end up on the line regardless).

Now, kneeling before Judy so that the two of them are of equal height, he considers his options and the fact that he probably already looks too much like a scared rabbit – like Judy does sometimes, in her worst moments; the rabbit doesn’t get frightened often, only when she’s afraid of missing her alarm and being late for work (or when she was staring at Nick in the pit, huge violet eyes wide and wary).

She’s not looking like that now. She looks calm; curious – ready to help – and it’s such an unfair contrast to how he _feels_ , staring back at her; like his body, just a little too hot beneath his clothes, beneath his fur, wants to turn itself inside out or curl up, even, anything to hide from that expression on Judy’s face. Hedgehogs, he considers, have the right idea; he should’ve been a hedgehog.

They’re supposed to be watching something about an otter and a hedgehog teaming up to fight crime, it’s playing in the background and has been for the last few minutes, the sound of sirens and gunshots on the screen (as well as the otter detective’s witty repartee which Nick will admit he’s quietly filed away for future use) but neither of them are paying attention.

(Judy is one of a select few who has seen him truly afraid – his Mum, Mr. Big and those cub-scouts being the only other exceptions to the rule – but now what’s making him freeze, what’s making his tail twitch and bush, is the possibility of being asked to get out of her apartment right now and don’t come back).

‘Nick?’ Judy asks finally; her nose is twitching but her voice is gentle – her eyes are studying him, searching for something like the good cop – the good rabbit – she is. Nick feels his ears fold back and then Judy’s paws are on top of his paws, crowning them and she’s offering him a smile – so kind, she’s always been remarkably kind.

‘Nick, it’s alright.’

Nick shakes his head and that’s when Judy does it; she takes the paw she’s holding in both of her own and squeezes it, holds it close. Then, without any warning and silent, she raises it to her mouth and quickly, gently, kisses the back of his knuckles with care, meets his eyes with the same.

Nick swallows.

There’s a lot of things he could say right now – that are probably his cue to say – things like: _every post I put on Furbook now is simply to wind you up_ and _I get weirdly jealous every time I see you laughing with Officer Chasray and the fact that he’s such a relaxed, friendly panther with everyone including me doesn’t help_ and _I’ve been picking holes in him, just in my head and I thought I didn’t do that, anymore._

And of course, the inevitable: _I can’t stop thinking about you._

Then, he does the only thing he can do – he leans forward, slowly, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on Judy – perhaps for reassurance, his as much as hers – before he dips his head and gently, ever so, places a kiss (feels the sudden dip of her inhaled breath) on one side of her neck. Pauses and then, carefully, so carefully, moves his mouth around to the other side, presses his lips there too, in the places where his teeth had barely grazed, that night in the pit _(like a Labrador,_ he instructed himself, remembering certain canine acquaintances of that particular breed who had proudly shown off being able to carry an egg in their mouth and he had still hated doing it).

Judy sways on the spot; sighs and Nick immediately pulls back. Judy’s nose twitches at him and then she pounces.

And it’s not being held down, arms pinned and being laughed at – it’s Judy chuckling as she knocks them both to the floor, the sound like a steady stream (as steady as she is; as she’s always been) and her hands are framing his face and she’s kissing him; tender, giving kisses, offered up so freely and he finds himself tucking his arms around her – his paws are _shaking_ – for once giving everything up to the person he trusts the most – after years and years of keeping it locked away. Something seems to be happening to his face; Judy presses a long kiss to his forehead and his cheeks are swelling with a grin he can’t help.

‘Oh, _Nick.’_ He opens his eyes to the sound and she’s beaming at him and the way his name shapes itself on her tongue is so unlike the way she said it a year ago, when he was advancing on her – it was acting, _just acting,_ he had told himself _, it’ll be over in a minute,_ it wasn’t his fault that Judy was so good at it – this one is whole and happy and he can’t help it, he kisses her with care, her eye, her cheek and he doesn’t want this to be over.  

(He _never_ wants it to be over).

Judy chuckles, slightly ticklish at the soft ministrations and they take a minute on the floor together, take a breath.

‘We-e-e-ll,’ he manages eventually, draws it out even as he puts one hand up to frame the side of her face. ‘Thought I’d put you out of your misery, Carrots.’ It’s feeble at best and he gets a thump in the arm for it, but then he gets a hug as well, one that’s full of a different kind of meaning than the ones she usually bestows on him (he’s always joked around, pretended to protest every now and then, pretending she’s been squeezing so tight that it hurt, except it doesn’t, it never does, except it’s always been the safest that Nick has felt for a long time).

‘You dumb fox,’ she whispers and her voice is full with it as she buries her face in his neck for a moment, so full of something that sounds like happiness and his answering laugh, like the soft turning of pages, shakes them both tenderly. 

‘Whatever you say, Carrots,’ he replies – agrees, really; given the circumstances, he is, just a bit – and she giggles, pleased, as she kisses him on the muzzle and they simply go with that; sit on the floor of Judy’s rickety little apartment and keep each other close, just as they always do.

*

**Author's Note:**

> For those who spotted it - yes, that was a _Sherlock_ reference. I am shameless.


End file.
